Walking Among the Wicked
by Rebo
Summary: A man who knows what he is, and knows that he can't hide from the rise of a new Empire. He will fight, or he will die. (Set in the time period between ROTS and New Hope, Review if you like, or if you hate).
1. Beginnings

Author Note: This is my first attempt at a star wars fic, but I love the story and the possibilities. I don't own any rights to anything SW, and never will. The universe and trademarks are all LucasArts. I borrowed the time period from Episode three, otherwise, the fic is entirely original. Enjoy, review if you like. Thanks.

"How about now?" The chief's voice called from above him. The ship's engine made a high pitch whine, and then emitted a sound like a dying bantha. Seconds thereafter, smoke began to drift from beneath the wing foils and a grinding sound could be heard with growing intensity.

"No, shut it down," was the shouted reply.

Boss Haggs swung his legs over the cockpit ladder and dropped himself unceremoniously to the ground. He was wiping his hands on a rag that had seen much, much better days. "What do you think?" He looked down at the pair of legs hanging out from beneath the craft's port wing.

"The hydraulic arm is busted, and the interior cables are leaking fluid. We'll have to replace both of them." The voice, and it's owner, were young. Haggs had recruited Silas to work in his hangar two years prior, right when business had been getting really good. The boy knew all types of ships like Haggs did, and the chief could see the boy one day taking over for him. One day a long, long time from now.

"You mean _you'll _have to replace them." Haggs' grin ascended into a laugh when he heard the thump from underneath the wing.

"What! Me? By myself?" The young man was trying to crawl out from underneath the wing.

"You know better, I'll give you Ricket and Guido. Can you get it done in a week?" He crossed his arms over his barrel chest.

"No," the young man finally emerged. "I can get it done in three days, if you can get me the parts." He straightened, and the two mechanics appraised each other. Haggs was a huge man, heavy set with more muscles than someone his age should have, but he'd been a mechanic all his life. He worked hard, and it showed. His face was a mass of hard lines underneath a lot of skin and absolutely no hair. He was smooth bald and clean shaven, but he had a hangdog expression that turned his mouth down into a perpetual frown. Sadly, it was a façade; Haggs was the nicest man Silas had ever come across.

Silas himself was Hagg's polar opposite. He was moderately tall, about average, and whipcord lean. He too, had the deceptive strength of a mechanic and a manual dexterity that would rival a droid's. He had a full head of hair that was barely longer than half an inch, and Haggs always told him it made him look like a clone. The two years working for Haggs had rubbed off on him, and he too was a kind soul.

"Three days, huh?" Haggs rubbed his chin and appraised the crippled craft. It was a first generation X-wing, with foils that spread away from the center wing, and the entire port underside was malfunctioning. It would take the best mechanics in the Republic, or now the Empire, nine days to fix. "You've got it. I'll have the parts here tomorrow."

Silas nodded and surveyed his workplace. The hangar was gigantic. Currently the projects were his X-wing, a few land speeders, two swoop bikes, and two large luxury clippers that had to be dry docked and carted over by the local authorities. Haggs had it made for himself. It was only his chief's laughter that brought him out of his scrutiny. He turned to face him.

"What is it, chief?" He crossed his arms to imitate his employer.

"Two years," Haggs clapped a hand on his back, "Two years and you already work harder than anyone here, ready to run the place." He shook his head. "Your done for today, go on home. Get here tomorrow an hour early and you can get started. Your excused from other work until this is done. Good job today, go get some sleep." Silas nodded and turned, sliding the suspender straps off of his shoulders and heading towards the back of the hangar, where the office was. He exchanged tired smiles with a few of his fellow workers, and what could have passed for smiles with a few of the lesser humanoid resembling ones. He sighed as he walked through the open doorway into the office foyer, passing by the receptionist who's name he couldn't even begin to pronounce.

"Another day," he whispered, pushing open the door to the employee's locker room. A few moments and he was out of his jumpsuit and pulling on his everyday clothes. A simple white shirt and a pair of sand brown pants that he tucked into shin high boots. He believed in simplicity. He casually removed his canvas bag from his designated footlocker and kicked it closed. Without much thought, he made his way to the rear of the room and out the door that lead into the back alley.

Silas didn't own any method of transportation other than his feet, and hadn't, in twenty three years. His feet suited him just fine. He lived in a small, rented hab about twenty minutes from the hangar, and he liked it. Quaint, and the owners accepted any form of currency he would give them. Such was the life on Laebus II.

_**An Hour Later**_

Silas sat in the center of his home's common room, cross legged, with his eyes narrowed to relaxed slits. He stared into nothingness, letting his mind wander and focus all at the same time. Rhodian candles burned brightly in multiple places, giving the home a haunted, lurking feel. This was a ritual unique to him, as he had begun it a long time ago. Silas had been getting headaches for as long as he could remember, and when he was just a bit younger, he learned how to quell them. A simple daily exercise that over the years had developed damning implications.

He breathed deep and closed his eyes, searching for something, anything to be the object of his focus. He found it. There was a constant noise in the background; rain. A light patter had begun outside, a storm ahead of the season. His mind snapped onto the sound and he poured himself into the effort. It came so easy after so long. His eyes came back open, and his gaze shifted to a candle in the far corner of the room. It winked out as if blown upon. Another shift of his gaze, another candle snuffed. After two more glances, only candles behind him remained. His slipped into his far off expression, and all at once they extinguished, pitching the room into darkness. He slid to his feet smoothly.

In the aftermath of the clone wars and the birth of the new Empire, there was one thing more dangerous to be than a rebel.

Jedi.


	2. A Marauder

Author Note: Refer to previous chapter.

Silas had pulled himself from sleep two and a half hours early, just so he could swing by the cantina to see Zeesa, the twi'lek bar keeper at the cantina. She always served him some kind of breakfast, even though most of the time he couldn't be sure what it was or wasn't. It helped that Zeesa was one of the most beautiful twi'leki's he'd ever seen.

The bulbous sun was just peeking over the horizon when he dragged himself through the door. Zeesa's head tentacles swiveled around her head as she polished the bar top, and he headed directly for her. She never looked up.

"Bad night?" her voice sounded obnoxiously peppy for this early in the morning. Silas nodded as he dropped himself onto a stool. "Another nightmare?" Again he nodded. She smiled a dazzling white smile at him that stood in stark contrast to her blue skin. "Sorry boy, something to eat?" She loved calling him "boy" because she knew it annoyed him. They had been having breakfast together, after a fashion, for months now. He enjoyed it immensely, she never complained.

"Sure, Zees, that'd be great." He rubbed at his eyes. It really had been an atrocious night. He had woken himself three times in a cold sweat, breathing heavily, trying to snap away from his dreams. They were always the same. No clear threat, but the sense of danger was ever present. It was like he was alone, in the dark. He hated the dark.

"Don't call me that," the Twi'leki grinned playfully, tossing her rag at him. He smiled and readjusted his pack and threw her rag absently back over the bar. "You missed the action last night." He scanned the bar as he listened to her. "No fights or anything like that, but just as exciting." She came back with a glass and a bottle of something clear. "A new pilot came in." She crossed her arms over her sizable chest.

Silas looked back at her, a little exasperated. He gave her a good once-over for the first time. She was as tall as he was, which wasn't unusual for her kind. She had a blue tint to her skin that matched her eyes in an appealingly odd way. She was muscular, but had to be, and her garb reflected her job; stained white shirt and a pair of black utility pants that she kept all kinds of necessary trade-tools in. "Is that suppose to excite me? I promised the chief I could do a week's job in three days, and someone new in town is going to get my ion running?"

"Do you want to go hungry, boy?" She grinned at his grimace, she was only about twenty years older than him, but on a proportional comparison, she was his age. He opened his mouth to apologize but she cut him off "The new pilot came in on a raft worth about as much as everything in your shop put together." She knew she'd hook him with that.

"Yea?" he pushed the glass and bottle aside, entirely forgetting he was starving. He crossed his arms and leaned forward on the bar. "What kind of 'raft'?"

She winked at him, "What's in it for me, Silas?" He grinned in return and remembered to pour himself a drink. "The cliffs, tonight when Tura lets me off?" Silas nodded and took a drink of his glass. "Good." She smiled. She enjoyed their outings. Not many people in the city really were available to talk with, socialize with, or even court with. She turned serious. "He docked at the main starport in a Sienar Marauder," she leaned in a little, "and word is that he's carrying a few work orders to Haggs." Silas' eyes were like saucers, and it didn't take long for the effect to set in.

He was running so quickly that the few patrons of the cantina jumped at the sudden movement. He was aware that Zeesa yelled something to him, but he wasn't sure what. A _Marauder_! A corvette hadn't docked on the entire planet since the absolute height of the clone wars. To have one here meant something had happened. He was in trouble, or something else had brought him here. Trouble would mean that either the empire or the old republic was causing a stir. But this far out on the Rim, that kind of action was few and far between.

Silas didn't realize how far he'd run until he came skidding to a halt in front of the shop. Usually he entered through the back, but he didn't want to waste time. He rounded the corner into the enormous hangar bay and stood thunderstruck. Everything was _gone_. The entire hangar bay was empty. No work projects stood on the dry lifts, no part trucks were housed on the turbolifts. There were more than half a dozen terrestrial ships in the hangar less than a day ago. Now they were gone. He jogged, still not understanding, towards the office. He knew there had to be an explanation, but he was clueless as to what it might be.

He had only formulated a possible few likelihoods when he managed to step through the auto-door into the office. Then his whole life changed. Every nerve in his body screamed the same thing, _danger_.

He barely had time to open his mouth, let alone scream, when the dull thud of a net launcher resounded through the reception area. His jaw clenched and his eyes snapped open rather than closed. His body convulsed as the pulsing strands of the net tightened around his upper body. He felt himself losing consciousness, pitching forward. He hit the floor with an audible thud, trying to fight off the pain and darkness creeping into his vision. Distantly, he heard voices, but they seemed so far away.

"I've been looking for this one for a long time," that voice was unfamiliar.

"I didn't know. Your not going to hurt him?" The second was hesitant, strained. It was Haggs. The chief? That couldn't be. What was happening? This was a mistake. He wanted to tell them something was wrong, that they shouldn't be doing this. He couldn't. He felt the fear seep into his mind with the darkness that he barely kept at bay.

"He won't be harmed. But the other one I told you about, the Twi'lek. Where is she?" Zeesa? What did they want with her? Who _was _this? He was losing himself, giving over to the panic. Why was Haggs helping them?

Before his eyes rolled back in his head, he could feel something pressed against his neck, and his muscles went lax. He screamed at himself to hold on, to fight back, but it was no use. Had he known he was being slung over the shoulder of a half-human half-mandalorian freelancer, he probably would have had several very loud objections. If he had seen the look on Haggs' face, he would have understood.

It was fear. He knew.


End file.
